as if those two seconds were fucking torture.
He traces circles up my thigh, drifting higher.
I glance over my shoulder,
and his heavy eyes hook into mine,
his breath trailing heat along my cheek.
“I’m gonna touch you,” he whispers.
Wanting. Wasted. Wrecked.
“Then I’m gonna make you come.”
My pulsebangslouder.
Everything inside me twists tighter.
He takes my left hand,
interlocks our fingers together,
lifts them,
pins them to the wall.
His other hand drifts slow,
teasingly higher up my thigh.
“Okay?”
I swallow.
I want this.I want him.
But my body is on fire, my mind is in pieces.
The anticipation shreds through me,
squeezes my muscles.
My heart is pacing the walls of its cage.
It’s itching to break through spine and flesh to get to him.
Andrew’s heart’s slamming against my back,
a mirror of mine.
Waiting, waiting,waiting.
I can’t think. I can’t get the word out.
Yes.
No.
